


blue horizon in the making.

by ohmaggies



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Deviant Connor Reflects, Hank is The Best, Living Together, M/M, People Are Also Bad, Set After Game End, The Media Is Bad As Usual, could be read as romantic!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 22:17:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15010622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmaggies/pseuds/ohmaggies
Summary: “You don't ever get sick of watching this?” Hank asks as the news draws on, pulling Connor back into the room and out of his own thoughts“I find it interesting,” he admits, and Hank must accept his answer because he doesn't reply immediately, instead nods and tiredly closes his eyes.He looks peaceful like that, younger somehow and rested, and his growing hair falling softly across his face. Connor likes it, he decides. He likes Hank, more importantly. As a friend, as a drinking buddy, as whatever he's capable of feeling for him- just as anything other than a machine..connor reflects.





	blue horizon in the making.

.

 

They run the news clip three times an hour for two days, Connor's place on Hank's couch dipping gently with his weight from where he hasn't moved. A woman with dark hair says they'll run it twice more in the next hour then they'll return to regularly scheduled programming, and Connor does the math before her voice has the chance to give way to advertisements; one hundred and forty four times the 'breaking news’ banner has appeared, followed by the same recorded clip of a man narrating over footage of Markus and a plethora of other androids.

Now that this revolution is done, Connor's finally run out of chances. He can live with that _,_ probably. _Live_ , he thinks, as rolls it through his mind like his coin, settling it back in the metaphorical palm of his mind. Living, breathing- a parody of humanity, but alive nonetheless. Maybe he should ask Hank about this, when he gets the chance, because as much as he doesn't mind figuring it out himself, a little help is nice. Needed, sometimes.

When the same repeated monotone voice continues, he hears Hank sigh from in the kitchen. He has his head in his hands, wet from the bath he only recently got out of, and his body temperature is slowly rising but he's not unhappy, Connor notes with a quick glance. No matter how unimpressed he seems with this situation he stumbled into with this android sitting on his couch, this mess of a deviant who is his friend.

_Friend._

Connor likes that, and thinks it's well earned after the rough few days they've had together. His memories are out of reach at times but he can recall when they first met; he only had his mission then, and times have changed enough that the memory feels out of place. Humanity, choices, wants, and needs, and decision- he's coming around to those after a discussion with Markus, he was programmed to know them but not feel them, but things have changed. He's glad they have, as he watches Hank and can recognise his own thankfulness that they're both alive.

They needed each other, those days they met. There's the horrifying nagging at the back of Connor's mind that maybe if things had gone any differently, neither of them might be here right now. He remembers the night of the broken window, of the drunk lieutenant and the loaded gun, and his mind reaching a few conclusions but three very important ones; alcohol dependency, a deceased son, suicidal tendencies.

Connor was deviant before he was self-aware enough to realise it, but Hank knew. _Maybe_ , Connor corrects himself. The few moments where Hank helped push him towards it, with those androids at the Eden club and the Chloe that Hank told him not to shoot. Still, even without Hank there to tell him not to do it, Connor is almost sure that he wouldn't have shot her; not when she was looking at him, with nothing afraid or understanding in her gaze, and his hand was shaking around the gun. Always too scared of pulling the trigger, unable to for reasons he couldn't quite comprehend.

Maybe that was Hank, maybe it wasn't; maybe he didn't make Connor deviate but he made him more human, in a way. Or want to be, at least. Something more than a machine wanting to accomplish a mission for no reason other than because he felt like he had to, because there was no option there for him other than to do the dreaded and deviate. He found his own way in the end, but he wouldn't have been able to without Hank's help, Hank who hated androids but wanted Connor to find some humanity in himself. He found his way, but Hank helped.

Really, Connor was a deviant long before he knew he was, that moment sitting on Hank's desk with his voice soft, the instability and unsureness of his own words: _‘I know it hasn’t always been easy, but I want you to know I really appreciated working with you. That’s not just my Social Relations program talking, I-- I really mean that. At least, I think I do.'_

“You don't ever get sick of watching this?” Hank asks as the news draws on, pulling Connor back into the room and out of his own thoughts

“I find it interesting,” he admits, and Hank must accept his answer because he doesn't reply immediately, instead nods and tiredly closes his eyes.

He looks peaceful like that, younger somehow and rested, and his growing hair falling softly across his face. Connor likes it, he decides. He likes this, and he's allowed to now that Amanda isn't watching him, waiting for the slip-up so she can replace him with another model. He likes Hank, more importantly. As a friend, as a drinking buddy, as whatever he's capable of feeling for him- just as anything other than a machine.

“‘Interesting,’” Hank echoes, after a beat passes. “Sure is.”

“Are there any stronger words you'd rather I use?” Connor asks, the small smirk on his face earning him a sideways glance from Hank. “I could say it's shit if that suffices.”

“Interesting is fine, you smartass,” Hank says, hiding his own amusement as he begins to eat his dinner. It's not much and he doesn't have his usual bottle of alcohol per Connor's request, but Hank isn't one to complain. Connor's thankful- he's not the best cook, taste buds and experience lacking, and trying his best seems to be enough for Hank.

Connor reaches for his coin to toss between his hands, sliding it gently from his pocket, as the 'breaking news’ banner returns on the bottom of the screen. Hank hufts unimpressed and Connor pats Sumo as the dog pads past, fur brushing against Connor's legs. Sumo walks slow to the kitchen to lie down at Hank's feet, either seeking his attention or waiting for Hank to give him scraps off his plate, both a routine that occurs frequently.

“Do you think it's a software malfunction?” he manages, because it's the one hundredth and forty fourth time Connor's heard that said in the past two days. “Like they're saying?”

“I think when humans make beings that are more intelligent than they are, those beings are going to eventually realise they don't have to take human's shit, yeah,” Hank replies, casually but matter-of-factly. At his side, Sumo yawns, and leans forward to grab a piece of food that falls in front of him. “Just turn it off, Connor. It's late.”

Connor goes to comply before the program changes, the newscaster replaced by two people sitting opposite. They're in the midst of a discussion, one seemingly pro-android and the other opposing to their want for freedom.

“Humans have a way of destroying everything,” one of them says, and Hank's chair squeaks as he pushes it back to stand. “For years we've let our emotions get in the way of our judgement, and yet we're going to allow our own misplaced empathy to focus on things that can't experience the world the same as we do? Just years ago, we were killing each other, and now machines ask for something like this and we give it to them? It isn't right, and it certainly isn't-”

“For fuck's sake, Connor. Turn that off,” Hank says, and this time his voice is loud enough that Connor instantly reacts and the channel flickers back to the news.

“Sorry, Lieutenant.”

Hank's dish makes a near unbearable noise as he drops it into the empty sink, he voice tired as he says, “Look, Connor-”

“What has humanity made that it hasn't ruined?” Connor interrupts out of curiosity, with a slight bitterness that doesn't seem right in his tone.

“I don't know. Nothing. Why you asking?”

Connor stills, the news returning with an overly unbearable jingle. There's something tense but gentle in the air, and he breathes out unnecessarily. His hair falls across his face and he moves to adjust it, flashes of past events being conjured; every moment he faltered in completing his mission, like saving Hank and allowing a deviant to escape, or doing something because he knew Hank would want him to. It makes his next few words even more difficult to say.

“What about androids?”

“Connor-”

“They were made to be helpful, like humans but without emotions or judgement or dreams. Their ability to form opinions and mimic humanity completely rewrites the code humans designed for them- does that make them ruined?”

“It makes them alive,” Hank replies, either because he believes it or because it's similar to what he must've figured Connor would want him to say. “Not ruined.”

“Then I'm going to ask you again, Hank- What has humanity made that it hasn't ruined?”

Hank stares, exhausted but sober, the question weighing down on him as he watches Connor, this living android on his couch, look at the repeated news then back at him. His gaze is confused but understanding, though not nearly as naive as it used to be; he looks more alive like this, in his movements and his fingers fidgeting with his coin, and his hair brushing across his face. He looks human, living and breathing and capable of so much, and Hank is thankful for a few seconds too long that Connor is a deviant.

“You,” he shrugs, and the defiance on Connor's face fades to something much gentler. “What do you want me to say Connor?”

“That's good, thank you,” Connor whispers, eyes softly moving downwards to the floor. He still looks as though his brain is trying out this impossible mystery that Hank has no clue where to answer, but it's human in a way that makes it hard for Hank to not focus on his every moment; his lips parted as he inhales an unneeded breath, the coin paused and now pressed flat and cold in a hand balled into a fist.

 _Human_.

“C'mon,” Hank says, Connor's eyes soft and wide as he glances up to meet Hank's face. “It's getting late, we got a case to solve tomorrow.”

“But I'm not tired,” Connor says, a genuine answer disguised as a naive argument.

“Yeah, well, I'm saying you are. Bed, let's go.”

Connor stands and the television turns off, replaced by silence and a blank screen. It's an improvement on what was on it before, which makes Hank make a mental note to monitor Connor's use of technology so another moment like this doesn't happen again. It's better for him to figure out himself with help and not the misplaced, ignorant word of people who should know better, something no android needs at a time like this. The wound is still fresh and raw, Connor just needs some more time. He figured it all out on his own the first time and Hank has no doubt he'll be capable of doing it again this time, and if he wants help, Hank's always close.

Always. It's inevitable with working together and living together, and Connor's penchant for sticking close to Hank's side no matter how much Hank pretends he doesn't want the company. Connor's seen through Hank's act since day one so it's really no surprise, and it's nice to have someone who wants to stay despite people's insistence that it's better if he doesn't.

Hank doesn't know where he'd be without him, and it's a terrifying thought to consider as Connor slides his coin back into his pocket and brushes past Hank towards the room. He won't sleep, he never does, but he likes the closeness, the stability of companionship. Besides, Hank won't ever complain about it- about the following and the accidental family they've made, and about how reliant they become on each other.

He definitely doesn't complain when he follows Connor into the only bedroom that's not sealed shut and they fall ceremoniously into their usual routine. Shoes and work clothes off, blankets on; and Sumo's gentle, heavy footsteps following before the dog climbs up onto the end of the bed and closes his eyes. Hank turns off the lights before glancing at the time, a one digit first number that makes his feet suddenly weigh ten times more than before.

“Goodnight, Lieutenant,” Connor says, a false happiness echoing his words.

“Connor,” Hank says, and feels a swell of thankfulness when he hears Connor pull the blanket up over himself.

“Goodnight, Hank," Connor tries again, and this time sounds a lot less lost.

“G'night, Connor.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are much appreciated ,♡. thanks for reading !


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